


Lessons at Sea

by voxanonymi (spasmodicIntrigue)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Marooned, Storms, The Royal Vessel, also why does the boat not have a canonised tag yet? come on now, angelgard, not necessarily in that order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 19:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14677935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spasmodicIntrigue/pseuds/voxanonymi
Summary: “I don’t like the look of those clouds,” said Ignis, pointing towards the opaque, grey patch of sky over Ravatogh.Noctis squinted. “Probably just ash.” He stood, rolling his shoulders. “It’s a problem for later. For now: fishing.”Sailing, as it turns out, is more fun than Noctis expected—the fishing is just a bonus. But there's a lot that can go wrong at sea. Especially when treading divine waters.





	Lessons at Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the short scene you get when you try to take the boat too close to Angelgard. It's only a 20-second scene, and this is a 5,500 word fic, but even so. Just... if you haven't seen the scene, you can find it on youtube, but it's not super important. Either way, hope you likey the story!

Being out on the water, the sea breeze in his hair, the afternoon sun slung sleepily between plumes of cottony clouds, Noctis felt a sort of freedom he never imagined possible. The rumble of the boat’s engine, the roll of waves beneath his feet. Bliss. Pure and simple. Sure, the Rite of the Hydraean was in a week, but for now? They had time to kill. And Noctis knew exactly what kind of knife he wanted to use to do so.

Out here, surrounded by undulating blue, the distinctive landforms of Ravatogh, the Duscaen arcs, and Angelgard silhouetted against the horizon, next week might as well have been next year.

So Noctis thought, at least. His friends didn’t agree quite so readily. Noctis had found his sea legs with surprising ease, giving him license to laugh his ass off at Prompto stumbling up and down the deck whenever they hit a swell and his knees failed to compensate. Gladio had hurled his lunch over the side of the boat, then been fine ever since. Ignis, initially, seemed to have taken to the sea as easily as Noctis. Then they’d hit upon a rough patch of ocean just north of the Altissian inlet, and his face had blanched sickly pale. Jaw rigid, sat staring straight ahead, still as stone as if auditioning to be the boat’s figurehead.

Noctis felt so sorry for him that he called him into the cockpit and offered him the helm.

“Are you sure?” Ignis asked, after swallowing several times. “It’s your vessel.”

Noctis shrugged. “The captain doesn’t usually helm his own ship anyway. Hard to give orders from in here. Now find us a good fishing spot before I make you scrub the deck!”

Ignis smiled wanly. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

The bonus of not driving, other than distracting Ignis from his seasickness, was that Noctis could kick back and relax for a while. At first, he had the not-so-brilliant idea of climbing on top of the boat, bracing himself against the aerials to reap the full effects of the salty sea breeze. Except, when you were moving at speed, the _breeze_ was more of a _gale_ , and the salt stung. Suffice it to say, he gave up on the idea rather quickly and dropped back onto the sheltered safety of the deck with badly windswept hair, nose and ears half-frozen. He pointedly ignored Prompto’s guffaws at his new hairstyle.

It was nice just to sit in the designated seating area, behind the cockpit, enjoying the sun’s warmth. The engine was loud—much, _much_ louder than the Regalia, but it drowned out all other sounds (Prompto) and settled into a strangely hypnotic hum in his ears.

Falling asleep was the last thing he expected to do. Yet, an indeterminate amount of time later, he was awoken by the sudden absence of the engine’s roar, followed by the splash of the anchor dropping from its pulley in the bow.

He pulled himself upright, having slumped over onto the seat during his impromptu nap. Angelgard struck a distinctively dramatic shape against the darkening sky just off the starboard bow. It was strange and exhilarating to see it so large, so close. Usually it was a distant landmark; now it was an island. Prompto was already up on the foredeck, snapping shots before it got too dark. “Wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity like this!” Noctis could imagine him saying.

He stretched his arms over his head, feeling the satisfying pops and cracks of his poor abused vertebrae—abused by his all-too-frequently unnatural sleeping positions. Ignis stood up from the driver’s seat, looking livelier than he had earlier. “There should be some good catch around here,” he said. “Pleasant nap?”

“Not bad,” Noctis said, ignoring the stubborn crick in his neck. He glanced behind him, spotting Gladio standing at the stern, staring out portside towards Galdin Quay. “Everything looks different out here,” he mused. “So… distant.”

“I don’t like the look of those clouds,” said Ignis, pointing towards the opaque, grey patch of sky over Ravatogh.

Noctis squinted. “Probably just ash.” He stood, rolling his shoulders. “It’s a problem for later. For now: fishing.”

 

A few hours and few dozen disappointing catches later, night had fallen in earnest. The lights at the bow cast the water in ghostly teal, making visible the flickering shadows of curious fish. There were _tons_ of them—but they were all small fry. Sea bass, trevally, and an army of glowing barrelfish. The novelty of the lattermost’s bioluminescence had long worn off.

Ignis and Gladio had retreated belowdecks a little while ago to turn in for the night. The Royal Vessel was a medium-sized yacht without much room below, but with the Regalia in the First Secretary’s care for the time being, they could get to the kitchenette and bathroom, and had slung up some hammocks for sleeping.

Prompto was still fiddling around with the exposure and aperture settings on his camera, trying to get a decent picture of the cosmic glitter spillage far above them. The patch sky over Ravatogh was dark and blank with clouds, of ash or the normal sort, Noctis couldn’t tell. He hoped it wasn’t an oncoming storm.

“You know the best part about being out here?” Prompto queried, as Noctis reeled in yet another pitiful trevally. “It’s completely dark out, but we don’t even have to worry about daemons.”

“Never really thought about if daemons can swim,” Noctis said thoughtfully, tossing the trevally back into the ocean—no point in killing for killing’s sake, he’d already caught enough fish to feed a small army.

“Maybe there are daemon _fish_ ,” Prompto suggested. He was lying on his back behind Noctis, camera pointed straight up. “Surprised you haven’t come across any yet!”

Noctis rolled his eyes. “One might leap onto the boat and attack you.” He sent his fishing rod back into the Armiger.

Prompto lifted his head to look at him. “You done?”

“Nothing interesting here. Snap any good shots?”

“I think so!” Prompto sat up. “Wanna have a look?”

“Sure.” Noctis sat down next to him as Prompto fiddled with the camera, showing off the pics he’d taken that night. To be fair, there _were_ some pretty sick shots. Not quite as awe-inspiring as the real thing, the sky over their heads, but impressive nonetheless.

“Oh! I _really_ like this one,” Prompto said, as he flicked to an image dominated by the imposing silhouette of Angelgard, the moon captured between the island’s skyward-reaching prongs.

“Yeah. Wow,” breathed Noctis, leaning in closer. Something about it spawned a strange feeling in his chest. Compelled him. Drew him in. He glanced up, looking starboard to where the real Angelgard loomed, just visible in the darkness, the moon having long since drifted southwards.

Maybe it was just Noctis’ imagination, but as he stared at the darkened form of the sacred isle, he had the strangest impression of… eye contact.

“Noct?”

Noctis blinked and tore himself away. “Huh?”

“You okay there?” Prompto was looking at him oddly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, just… got distracted. Thinking about something.”

Prompto nodded understandingly. “Fair enough. Hey, I got some great shots of the sunset too—wanna see ‘em?”

 

Dawn bloomed bright and brilliant the following morning. Angelgard was again thrown into contrast by the blinding morning sun climbing into the sky from behind it.

The agitatedly tossing waves tossed them all out of their bunks earlier than Noctis would have liked. To the east, the sunrise was fair and clear, but to the west, the still-dark side of the sky was made darker by a clump of dark clouds—a clump which had grown considerably during the night.

They ate breakfast (fish, naturally) amidships in the seating area and discussed the day’s agenda. Namely what to do about that dark clump.

“The safest thing would be to return to Altissia,” said Ignis. “A slow-moving storm is a storm nonetheless, and we don’t want to find ourselves stranded back on Lucis with the rite so close at hand.”

“The rite is six days away,” Gladio reminded him. “And the storm might not even be coming this way—you want us to spend a whole day sailing back to Altissia for a storm which may or may not pose a threat?”

“Better than the alternative.”

Gladio waved a dismissive hand. “Even if we do end up landlocked in Lucis, we got plenty of time to let the storm blow over and get back to Altissia. With time to spare.”

“Not like the rite would even go ahead if we’re not there,” Noctis pointed out.

Gladio nodded. “Wouldn’t be much point in summoning the Hydraean if the king isn’t there to receive her blessing.”

“The king would be better off showing up on time,” said Ignis. “But feel free to ignore my advice.”

“You just don’t like being on the water,” Prompto teased.

Ignis scowled and muttered something unintelligible—and probably very scathing—under his breath.

Prompto nudged Noctis. “Hey! You know what game this reminds me of?”

Noctis grinned. “ _Assassin’s Creed IV_?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Oh, brother,” said Gladio.

“This is entirely the wrong sort of ship,” said Ignis. “It isn’t _even_ a ship.”

“Those are mutinous words, Ignis,” Noctis warned.

“Does this ship even have a name?” Prompto asked. “I feel like she needs a good name.”

“It’s not a ship,” Ignis repeated.

“Could call it the _Jackdaw_?” Prompto suggested.

“Nah, doesn’t really suit,” said Noctis.

“Please don’t name your father’s boat after a ship in a video game,” Gladio begged.

“How about the _Aquila_? From _AC3_?” Prompto continued. “And it means ‘eagle!’”

Noctis thought about it. “Better, but. I don’t know.”

“Why not just name it the _Navis_ and be done with it?” Ignis deadpanned, looking like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

Prompto seemed genuinely confused. “…You want us to call the boat _boat_?”

“It’s not important right now,” said Noctis. “I have an idea about what we can do today.”

Gladio raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

“Funny you should ask.” Noctis stood, and, with a dramatic flourish, pointed a single finger to starboard—towards the landmark that had been drawing his eye and thoughts since last night. Angelgard. “We’re going to explore uncharted lands.”

“That sounds like a bad idea,” said Gladio.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it unreachable? Isn’t that _why_ it’s uncharted?” asked Prompto.

“That, and its status as sacred,” said Ignis. “I suspect the latter more than the former is responsible for sinking any vessel that attempts to get near it,” he added pointedly.

But Noctis had made up his mind. He wasn’t sure what it was, but the feeling that had bloomed within him last night when he’d seen Prompto’s photo hadn’t gone away. Standing on deck now, staring across at Angelgard, he could make out the individual ridges of its clifflike composition—less landmark, more island; less island, more rock formation protruding from the ocean. He felt indelibly drawn towards it. It seemed like it would be a bad idea _not_ to explore it.

“Clearly none of those other ships were carrying the Chosen King,” Prompto pointed out. “I say we go for it!”

“For the last time,” sighed Ignis, “this is _not_ a ship.”

 

It wasn’t long before Noctis realised that his gut feeling had led him astray— _horribly_ astray. Horrifically astray. Just. Really bad.

He let Ignis take the tiller, and stood right by the driver’s chair as they charged onwards towards Angelgard. Prompto and Gladio joined them in the cockpit, looking suitably apprehensive, given what was about to happen.

First, a tiny headache blossomed in the centre of Noctis’ forehead. Okay, not a huge deal, he had headaches all the time.

Then it started to rain. Also not too big a deal, except for the high likelihood that it predicated something much worse.

“Looks like the storm caught up to us pretty fast after all,” said Gladio, voicing what they were all thinking.

Angelgard towered over them, suddenly looking more foreboding than intriguing. “Let’s just get there quickly,” said Noctis. The words were barely out of his mouth when a deafening crack of thunder split the sky. Like a spark reaching the end of a fuse, the pain in Noctis’ head exploded, skull igniting like so much gun powder.

The rain got heavier. The waves got rougher. Noctis’ head flamed and throbbed. Except for Ignis, safely in the driver’s seat, they all scrambled for something to grab onto—but with his teeth grit, eyes clenched shut, and hands tangled in his hair against the surging agony in his cranial cavity, Noctis was quickly thrown off balance—straight down, hitting the deck with a barely-registered thud.

“Noct!”

He wasn’t quite sure which of his friends had called his name, but in the next moment, he was being pulled upright by large hands that could only be Gladio’s. “Noct, what is it?”

_Holy mother of divine headaches!_ is what Noctis wanted to say, but it came out as a pained groan. A static was humming relentlessly in his ears, a low, white roar that only served to amplify the piercing treble in his head.

“Hold on,” Gladio shouted over the roar. “Get us outta here, Iggy!”

“Right,” Ignis called, and Noctis felt the deck shift sharply beneath his feet as Ignis pulled on the tiller.

A fresh wave of pain reduced Noctis’ knees to gel, and he would have fallen again if not for a second pair of hands darting in to keep him upright.

“Hang in there!” Prompto cried, right in his ear.

Noctis pried his eyes open and peered through his fingers at his friend’s pale face. Behind Prompto, the windshield was a watery mess, the tiny windshield wiper no match for the torrent of rain and sea spray from all sides. The static wasn’t in his head, it was all around them—the rain bucketing down on them, the waves churning angrily about them, lashing at the sides of the boat.

Just as he thought the pain might be loosening the headlock it had him in, it doubled down like the twisting of a knife, tightening his hold, reddening his vision and drawing forth a strangled cry.

For a moment, everything stopped. It all went quiet. His head still hurt, but the chaos had paused. Noctis looked to either side of him, at Prompto’s face, pale and stricken, and Gladio’s, concerned and impatient.

Then, the voice. The distorted, layered sort of voice he was so used to hearing whenever he got these headaches. “ _They veer too close to sacred ground_.”

Noctis winced. Every syllable was like needles to his temples. “Who are you?” he bit out through an involuntarily clenched jaw.

“ _They must leave,_ ” the voice continued, oblivious to or uncaring of his suffering. “ _Until they earn the favour of the gods—only then may they return_.”

The voice faded. Unpause. Resume chaos.

“Look out!” Gladio roared, letting go of Noctis with one hand to point off the port bow—at a wave like a solid wall of water, ten feet high—taller, even, and rolling straight towards them.

“We’re gonna die!” Prompto yelped.

“Hit the deck!” Ignis yelled.

But his order came too late. The wave hit them with a crash to rival the rumbles of thunder from above, and the ship went vertical.

Holding on to nothing but each other, Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto fell.

Noctis’ friends’ hands were ripped away from him as instinct kicked in and they fought to save themselves, scrabbling to grab onto something, anything. Noctis lost track of the other two as he plummeted back—down, towards the ocean surface.

The cold took the air out of his lungs. Water filled his ears and nose and his skin stung from the impact. A cloud of air bubbles swarmed around his head, obscuring his vision. Up and down lost all meaning. Noctis twisted about, desperately trying to orientate himself. The ache in his head was soothed by the cold, and yet worsened by having to hold his breath—though he had no breath to hold, and his lungs reminded him with a painful spasm that almost made him try to breathe in.

_I’m going to drown_ , he realised. _I’m going to drown. I’m drowning!_

Before his panic could amount to much more, a muscled pair of arms grabbed him around the waist and hauled him to the surface. The water was choppy and did its best to push them under again (and the persistent rain didn’t help matters), but at least Noctis could breathe now—almost. He hacked and coughed and struggled to fill his lungs, clinging to Gladio’s shoulder as if his Shield were a life raft. Right now, he sort of was.

The boat was right in front of them. Prompto was crouched anxiously at the stern, riding out the swells, leaping up and waving furiously when he spotted them—only to hurriedly return to his crouch as another angry wave rolled beneath the boat.

“Are you okay?” Gladio asked, himself slightly out of breath.

“I think so,” Noctis managed, rubbing water out of his sore eyes.

“Come on.” He started to pull Noctis towards the boat. Just as well, because Noctis’ legs didn’t seem to want to work properly. Out of exhaustion, maybe, or shock, or cold, or maybe the ongoing headache had finally caused permanent neurological damage and barred access to the full function of his legs.

They reached the boat’s stern. Ignis joined Prompto in pulling Noctis up onto the deck.

“Are you alright?” Ignis demanded, as he helped Noctis get shakily to his feet.

“I’m fine,” Noctis gasped, right before his legs—and his consciousness—failed him.

 

As rule, Noctis didn’t wake up quickly. He just didn’t. His friends knew this better than anyone. Sometimes it took literal _hours_ of cajoling and convincing and conniving to get him upright in the morning. However, there were exceptions to every rule—without exception.

He came to with a jolt, lungs working in overtime as if he’d just emerged from the depths. Again. But he wasn’t in the water this time, he was lying on his back, completely drenched, on a not-quite soft, not-quite hard surface that had nonetheless moulded itself to the points and curves of his limbs and body. Sand. Directly above him was a ceiling of damp-shiny rock.

“Noct?” Ignis’ worried face entered his periphery. “Doing okay?”

Noctis blinked. He mentally checked himself over—his head felt fine, thank god, and other than being freezing cold, the rest of him seemed uninjured. Just a bit achy. He genuinely did feel better than he had before he’d passed out, though. “Peachy,” he intoned. He pushed himself up, hands sinking into the sand. “What happened?”

“We’re… beached, as it were,” said Ignis. He was crouched beside Noctis, carefully not letting any part of his body other than his feet touch the adhesive sand. He, too, was soaked through, shoes caked in sand, hair deflated and drooping into his eyes. It was a surprisingly good look for him. Noctis didn’t hold much hope that he himself looked “good,” in any sense of the word, especially with the back of his head resembling a beach.

They were at the back of a cave, and Ignis was between Noctis and the cave mouth. The daylight was watery; still raining, albeit in a drizzle compared to the torrent from earlier (how _much_ earlier was yet to be revealed). In the near distance over Ignis’ shoulder, Noctis could see the boat, bow angled towards the cave, tipped to one side without water to keep it level. As he watched, Prompto’s distinctively blonde head appeared around the side, carrying a box of camping supplies. He dumped them onto the sand to join the other assortment of equipment already assembled on the beach.

“Shortly before you lost consciousness,” Ignis continued, “which scared the bloody wits out of us, by the way, so please don’t do that again.” He cleared his throat. “Shortly before you lost consciousness, the boat’s engine cut out and we were left at the mercy of the weather. Fortunately, it didn’t dash us into any rock formations or sweep us beneath the waves. As far as I can tell, we’re somewhere on the northern coast of Accordo.”

“I didn’t know Accordo _had_ a northern coast,” said Noctis, rubbing the sand out of his hair—even though his hands, too, were covered in sand. The sand… it was everywhere.

“It doesn’t,” said Ignis. “Not really. I think this beach is about the extent of it.” He stood and held out a hand. “Come see for yourself.”

Noctis did his best to wipe the sand off his hands before accepting Ignis’ hand up, though Ignis didn’t seem to mind either way. His eyes lingered on Noctis’ face a second longer than was strictly necessary—no doubt to make sure he wasn’t about to immediately keel over again. Noctis really did feel fine, despite the violent shivers wracking him, courtesy of the sharp gusts of wind blowing into the cave. It felt as if the water soaked into his clothes was trying to freeze. He wrapped his own arms around himself in a feeble attempt at preserving body heat as he followed Ignis out into the rain.

The so-called “beach” was hardly that. It was a patch of sand, flanked by scary-looking rocks at the foot of a sheer cliff face. The water was some fifty or so feet out from where they stood in the cave mouth. Noctis looked out at the sea, to see what he could see, but the horizon was obscured by grey fog, making grey sea and grey sky blend seamlessly into one another. An empty grey expanse, as if the rest of the world had fallen away while Noctis was unconscious, and this miserable little beach was all that was left.

“I see what you meant,” Noctis said, voice raised over the rain and restless tide.

“Indeed,” said Ignis grimly. “We’re fortunate to have washed up precisely here.”

That was an understatement. The boat was barely a hand’s width away from some sharp-looking boulders. “A few inches to the right and we’d have been sunk,” said Noctis. “Literally.”

“Quite. Quite coincidental.”

“Too creepy to be coincidence.” He suppressed another shudder. His ribs were starting to ache with the effort, and the combination of wind and rain were drawing forth a tired throbbing in his bad knee. Not so bad as the pain in his head had been. And that voice… _that_ was weird. “I need to tell you guys something.”

“An explanation for your sudden… regression?”

“Not sure what that means, but yes. Maybe.”

Ignis nodded curtly, eyes obscured by the rain on his glasses. He needed little windscreen wipers attached to the frames. “We should go help the others set up camp, first.”

 

By the time night had fallen, the four of them were huddled around a dying campfire at the back of the cave. It was amazing that Gladio had managed to get a fire going at all—and without Noctis’ magic. Initially. With dry, burnable material running low—as limited as it was in the first place—he was having to release some of the fire energy he had in his stores to prolong the burn as long as possible.

Food wasn’t a problem, thanks to the surplus of fish Noctis had caught. He could no longer remember the last time he’d eaten something that wasn’t fish. Not that he wasn’t grateful—to Ignis’ cooking, and to his own angling skills.

They had fire, and they had food, but everything was still wet and cold and miserable.

“Remind me why we’re out here rather than, you know, in the _perfectly good boat_ over there?” Prompto complained as he tried to warm his hands over the pathetically flickering flames.

“We can’t start a fire in the boat, Prompto,” Gladio retorted.

“We could barely start a fire _here_!”

Noctis sighed, extricating a hand from the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and holding it out towards the fire pit, convincing the flames to burn with a little more enthusiasm. Reluctantly, they complied. Their renewed vigour wouldn’t last long, though.

“You can’t keep that up forever,” said Ignis, and Noctis was inclined to agree.

“I choose to appreciate it while I can!” Prompto crowed, scooting closer to the fire pit. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Noctis.

Gladio cleared his throat. “So, Noct,” he began. “The hell was that back there?”

“Ah, yes—you said you had something to tell us?” Ignis added.

“Right.” Noctis shifted, pulling the blanket more tightly around himself. “Yeah, uh…” He wasn’t really sure where to start, so he just put it out there as plainly as he could: “We got too close to Angelgard, I think. Judging by the headache, and some voice in my head telling me I have to ‘earn the favour of the gods,’ or something, before we can visit the sacred ground or whatever.”

“Spooky,” said Prompto.

“Yeah, it is,” Noctis agreed. “I mean… it was weird. I’m not allowed to go there yet, but the main reason I _wanted_ to go there was because it felt like I _should_. Like something was drawing me in.”

“Curious,” said Ignis. “If legends have anything to say, the isle of Angelgard has ancient connections to the royal line. That may go some way towards explaining this… phenomenon.”

“Earning the favour of the gods, though,” Gladio mused. “I mean, you’ve already got Ramuh on your side, and it’s his turf, right?”

“Angelgard _was_ the Fulgarian’s resting place,” Ignis corrected, “which does not necessarily make it his ‘turf.’”

“The voice didn’t sound like Ramuh,” said Noctis. “Or Titan. It was... harsher. More formal.” Possibly more painful than Titan, though it was hard to tell. The titan-sized headache from Titan had been massively prolonged, whereas this one was mercifully short lived. “The storm, though. That could have something to do with Ramuh?”

“A defence mechanism, of sorts?” Ignis suggested. “A divine trip-wire? Which could be the true reason no other boat has been able to get close to it.”

What Ignis didn’t mention was how exceptionally lucky they were to have landed somewhere (possibly the only somewhere) that didn’t tear them and their boat to shreds. It was too lucky to be coincidence.

A shiver ran down Noctis’ spine, which had nothing to do with the clammy chill that clung to him like wet sand. There was plenty of that, too.

The fire died for good not half an hour later, and with the wind and rain still howling outside the cave, the temperature plummeted. The four of them huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, backs against the cave wall, each as damp and miserable as the other.

“What if the tide comes in?” Prompto asked from Noctis’ left. “Like, _in_ in. In here.”

“We get wet,” said Gladio, on Prompto’s other side.

Prompto groaned. “Great. I feel like I’m never gonna be warm and dry again.”

“We’d warm up faster if we took our clothes off.”

“ _What_? No way. That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Ignis put in from Noctis’ right. “Direct contact transfers heat much faster. Interceding layers of clothing slow down the conduction.”

Prompto had no immediate rejoinder. Then, “Well. No offense, guys. But. I don’t want to take my clothes off.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Gladio grumbled.

“Then why would you mention it in the first place!?”

“To see how you’d react.”

“To see how—ugh. You are the worst.”

“Remind me who it was who got the fire going?”

“Yeah, well, uh, while I’m at it I might also remind you that the fire is long-ass cold and dead, big guy!”

Ignis hummed. “I suppose it may actually have been a better idea to hole up in the boat for the night after all. We could have used the stove as a heater. Of course, one of us would have to stay awake to keep an eye on it.”

“Nah,” said Gladio. “We’d’ve had to close all the doors and hatches to keep everything dry, and by morning we’d all be dead from the carbon monoxide.”

“Ah. Of course. Good thing we’re out here, then.”

“ _Good_ thing?” Prompto said drily.

“Better thing.”

“Sorry,” Noctis blurted.

His friends were stunned into momentary silence.

“What for?” Ignis asked gently.

“I mean. It’s my fault we’re in this mess. If I hadn’t insisted we go to Angelgard, we could be back in Altissia by now.”

Further silence. No one jumped in with “oh no Noct don’t worry it totally wasn’t your fault” or “don’t be silly Noct we’re _all_ at fault” or even “well it’s actually the Astrals’ fault because they seem to have it in for you.” Just silence.

“It sort of was your fault, wasn’t it?” Gladio said.

Noctis sighed.

“We might have gotten hit by the storm anyway,” Prompto reasoned.

“Yes, perhaps we might have,” Ignis agreed, “because none of you seemed inclined to listen to my warning about it, for reasons I can’t imagine.”

Another long stretch of quiet.

“Okay,” Noctis said, then coughed to dislodge some phlegm in his throat before continuing. “Moral of the story: always listen to Ignis.”

“Amen,” said Prompto.

“Thought you would have known that by now,” said Ignis.

Gladio chuckled. “You can’t reason with nutcases.”

“You realise you’re calling yourself a nutcase, too, right?” Prompto questioned.

It wasn’t much longer before Noctis fell asleep to the sound of his friends’ good-natured bickering.

 

Noctis was at least warm when he woke up. His temple was pressed into Ignis’ shoulder. He could feel the line of Ignis’ jaw against the top of his head. On his other side, Prompto was pressed so firmly against him that Noctis wasn’t sure he had a left arm anymore—he sure as hell couldn’t feel it.

He could, however, feel the thick fog in his head, the sandpapery ache in his throat, the gluey obstruction in his airway, and the sharp pain behind his eyes when he opened them to the bright morning sunlight flooding in through the mouth of the cave.

A cold. Noctis had woken up sick.

The tide had, in fact, come in. Not “ _in_ in,” as Prompto had so eloquently put it, but _in_ enough that the boat just needed a bit of muscling to push out into the surf. They spent the morning wading back and forth through the waist-high water, putting all the camping equipment back into the hold.

Regardless of the clear sky and gentle sea breeze, Noctis found it a very miserable way to spend a morning.

Before casting off, they had breakfast seated amidships in the soft sunlight—fish soup, which Ignis had made on the stove in the hold while the other three packed up.

“Kinda getting sick of fish,” Prompto said warily.

“You’re free to go hunt down some other kind of meat,” Noctis grumbled, glaring at the back of his friend’s head. He swiped a sleeve across his running nose. “Oh, wait.”

“Okay, dude, chill out. It was just a joke.”

“Whatever.”

“Looks like his Highness has caught the man flu,” Gladio chuckled.

“Probably caught it from you,” Noctis shot back. “One of you has to have been carrying the bug.”

“Not necessarily,” Ignis said cautiously. “The common cold has an incubation period of up to three days. It’s not implausible that you caught it in Altissia.”

“Well. Great.” Noctis set his mostly-eaten bowl of soup down on the seat beside him, then crossed his arms with a heavy (and heavily congested) sigh. “I’m sure Leviathan will be really impressed when I show up to the rite with a blocked nose and a cough.”

Prompto snickered. “Oh, great sea goddess— _cough, cough_ —grant me your— _achoo!_ —blessing!”

Gladio snorted. Even Ignis smirked. Noctis was not amused. He cleared his throat into the crook of his elbow and decided not to dignify Prompto’s mockery with a reaction.

A short while later, they were sailing south around the rocky Accordan coast towards the Altissian inlet. Ignis took the helm again, and Noctis spent most of the trip lying across the back seat, drifting in and out of a light doze.

They arrived by the afternoon, and headed straight for the Leville. Waterlogged, unkempt, and sand-encrusted, they only attracted a _few_ strange looks on the walk over.

Noctis desperately needed to shower, they all did, but his head felt full of seawater and his legs were convinced that he was still on the rolling deck of the boat. So, naturally, his first inclination when they finally got to their room was to collapse face-first onto one of the beds.

“First dibs on shower,” he heard Gladio say.

Prompto spluttered in protest, but a dibs was a dibs, and there was nothing he could do to overturn it.

“Noct?” Noctis felt the bed dip beside him.

He groaned. “Next time I go to do something stupid,” he mumbled into the bedcover, “remind me of this.”

Ignis chuckled. “ _Only_ this, or should I start keeping a running log of your extensive list of silly mistakes?”

Unfortunately, he had a point. “Never mind.”

“Every mistake is a lesson learned,” Ignis said sagely, briefly placing a hand on Noctis’ back.

But Noctis was already halfway asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I realise it hasn't actually been that long since I last posted, but it feels like it has. Possibly because I finished a draft of this fic before even posting the last one. Possibly because a lot happened in the last month. Almost entirely good stuff! And assignment due dates. Which are neutral stuff. I wouldn't quite call them good. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm on [tumblr](https://voxanonymi.tumblr.com/) if you want occasional status updates on fics. And other tumblr-y stuff. I don't know. The world is your oyster, and you are its pearl. Treat yourself to some nice tea today. Or coffee. Whichever you prefer. I love both.


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